The Power Of An Empty Chair

Long before Clint Eastwood delivered his controversial improv at the Republican National Convention, or the buzz of “Eastwooding” began, there has been and empty chair in my house that is much more than just a “conversation” piece, and the former inhabitants more than just imaginative.

Most of my readers know that my pen name, Law, came from my maternal grandmother. When my grandmother was only five years-old, her own mother passed away, and since her father didn’t feel he could provide proper care for her and her two siblings, they were left to be raised by her grandparents. Her grandfather had a chair that she loved to sit in, and God only knows the things she learned or thought about while sitting in that chair, but more so, I am confident that my great-great-grandfather read some fantastic news stories while reading his newspaper in it.

It is possible that in that chair he learned of the panic in 1929 that began the Great Depression, something that would have affected them greatly since they owned and operated a general store. He likely listened to Roosevelt on the radio, maybe the comedy of Amos and Andy, or the Big Band music of Artie Shaw.

My grandma’s uncle Otis was the first to inherit the chair, and the picture I have here is of him sitting in it, in his favorite spot next to his radio. The little girl in the picture is one of my mother’s first cousins, which would date this photo in the early 1950s. Having learned about Otis and his interests, I’m quite certain that he listened to a lot of baseball games on that radio while sitting in the chair—perhaps he heard the play by play of the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan Musial as they won the 1942 World Series.

Otis died in 1963, and though I’m not sure how it worked out precisely, somehow my grandma Law inherited the chair. As a child I remember seeing the chair in the old farmhouse.  Not considered an antique, but a regular part of the living room furniture, it was used for family and company. Though I can’t remember specifically my grandmother reading to me in this chair, I’m quite sure it was in the same room when she did.

My grandma died in 1983, and several years after that my grandfather gave the chair to my mother.  To her it was an heirloom and an antique, and was very proud of it. The cushion had been recovered from its original leather to a gold tweed upholstery, and it was part of my mom’s decorative furniture for several years—never used, but sat empty and only to be admired by its appearance.

I loved the chair, for its style, appearance, and nostalgia, so I was very pleased when my mother gave it to me. I never intended to use it, only for it to sit empty and to decorate my home. But it was in bad need of a new finish, and I wanted to recover the cushion back to leather. My mom agreed to help me, and so before taking it to my home we stripped and refinished it ourselves, and my mom reupholstered the cushion. When done I couldn’t have been more pleased with the results.

But in my house it sat, an empty chair, except when one of my cats or my dog took the notion to lay in it for a nap. On occasion, when my parents would visit, my mom would sit in the chair, maybe to absorb some of that nostalgic energy, or more likely to admire our work of restoration. I certainly loved having the chair for all those reasons.

Not long ago I was reading about Louis L’Amour’s claim that he “could write anywhere with his typewriter balanced on his knees.” I thought I should try to do something similar, and when passing through my living room I saw the chair and it hit me: I should write a novel in that chair.

After all, I write under my grandmother’s name, and it belonged to her family.  What another great tribute, I thought, and it would also give that particular book a special, personal contribution.  So I committed to it, and when I started writing The Bitter Road, it was with my laptop balanced on my knees, in that once empty chair.  Though I am still working on the novel as I write this, I can assure you that every single word has, and will be written in that chair. 

And yes, even this blog post is being written in that chair. 

One might wonder if it’s comfortable, and I am amazed at just how comfortable it is. It’s really no different than my office chair, which is designed after the old style wooden office chairs on caster wheels. Though I’m not convinced it’s something I would want to write in full time, it’s definitely fun to do as a tribute.

Now as for having conversations with this empty chair, that has never happened. I do think, however, that sometimes the chair talks to me.  Not literally, of course, but spiritually.  Five generations of my family have owned this chair, and it’s my belief that it is on an incredible journey, and my contribution may only be a short chapter of where it has been and what is yet to come, but before my time is up, I may have to do some Eastwooding of my own. That’s right, I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to the chair without having a nice talk. We might even talk about politics.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

Comments

[Don Bendell]

Treasure it, Steven. When Shirley and I married 32 years ago, my mother gave us an intricately-woven antique rattan and wooden rocker, which was her only heirloom from her mother. The day before we moved to Colorado in 1982, it was stolen out of our garage in the daytime by a very brazen thief.

[Hoyle Wallace]

You have a way to keep family memories going in a unique way. The story is comforting to read. Thanks for sharing your family with us. Keep on writing!!

[G. Aliceson]

You have shown the best way to keep history alive is by living it and adding to it. What a great metaphor for the endurance of your family!

[Jean]

What a poignant entry. Love the sentiment. I am so fortunate to have so much furniture from my maternal grandparents. There is only one room in the noise, except the bathrooms, that doesn't have at least one piece of furniture. So very often, my eyes light on a piece, and I remember it in their house and the conversations and love that surrounded it. Thanks!

[Terri]

Bet I know who will get the chair next!

[Leatrice Greaves]

Thank you for sharing your grandmothers chair with us. I enjoyed reading about it very much. It looks like it will oversee many more generations.

[coty johnston]

Steven, wonderful story of your life..thank you for sharing! If one is to look at the picture of it after you and your mom restored it, the warmth of smiles and tears of unknown shows through.

[Renee B.]

Steven, thank you so much for giving us such a wonderful glimpse into your history. I imagine one day a little boy will grow into manhood - and add his own bit of history... telling the story of how his Daddy wrote one of his books sitting in that very seat.

[Dale Jackson]

Great thoughts. It seems that, with each new generation, we lose some of our connection with the past. That family heirloom is more than just a chair, it's part of your family's history...writing your next novel in it is a nice way to add more history to it that your son can tell his son about when he hands it over to your future grandson that will, hopefully, get the chair and the book.

[Peter Brandvold]

What a great blog, Steve. I really enjoyed it. I have a chair that looks a lot like yours though it came from a little used furniture store in Great Falls, Montana, but every time I sit in it, I can really sense the old Montana history in it. I write in it all the time!

Thanks for the great writing!

Pete

[Jean Reilly]

I have my special chair from when i was two..i was adopted at 2 after being a foster child for since birth. It is my special memory because a picture was taken of me in my adoption dress. :) Memories in that chair are very vivid.. :) I felt true comfort when i sat in it.. :)